


'Twas the Night Before Sherlockmas

by mydarlingbenedict (LiraDonne)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, John is a Saint, Sherlock is a big baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraDonne/pseuds/mydarlingbenedict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John volunteers to read a Christmas story for a class of children.</p><p>Sherlock is a bratty, jealous idiot, and does not approve of John spending any time without him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Twas the Night Before Sherlockmas

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Retirement!lock](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/33057) by ireallyshouldbedrawing. 



> This fic was written for [ireallyshouldbedrawing](http://ireallyshouldbedrawing.tumblr.com/) (AKA [fictionforlife](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionforlife/pseuds/fictionforlife)) as part of a Secret Santa gift exchange. It was based on [this adorable drawing of hers](http://ireallyshouldbedrawing.tumblr.com/post/67581792199), in which John reads Sherlock a story. I changed the universe and made it Christmasy, but hopefully captured the essence. :3
> 
> No beta, so please excuse any errors. (And feel free to point them out in the comments.)

Sherlock swept into the sitting room with a bubbling Erlenmeyer flask in one hand and his phone in the other.

"Lestrade just informed me that you have _plans_ tomorrow," he hissed. "But you can't. We're going to the crime scene."

John flicked his eyes over the top of the laptop screen. "I told you about my plans a week ago, when I made them."

"We're working on a _case,_ John. You can't have plans."

John raised an eyebrow. He knew better than to be offended by Sherlock's assumptions that The Work ought to be John's most important priority. "I've had these plans for a week, Sherlock. The case only popped up yesterday. I've made a commitment to those kids, and I intend to go through with it."

"You're so _selfish_ ," said Sherlock. He huffed and went back to the kitchen. Smoke soon began to pour through the doorway, into the sitting room.

John reached for his surgical mask and goggles. One could never tell whether Sherlock's experiments were poisonous. Best to be prepared, really.

~

Around Christmastime, John was guilted into being charitable by sad commercials with injured puppies and starving children. He couldn't quite afford to donate money, though. Not when his flatmate was constantly on the verge of blowing up their furniture.

So John had gotten into the habit of volunteering during the holidays. He'd worked at soup kitchens, toy collections, a handful of different charities. He'd even learned to knit so he could help make quilts for homeless people.

This year, Lestrade's kids, Lucy and Jack--fraternal twins, aged seven--were looking for volunteers to read them holiday stories during their class's Christmas party, which was scheduled for the last day of classes before their winter break. Lestrade had asked John if he'd like to do one, and John had immediately agreed. He liked having an excuse to see Lestrade's kids. He'd had the privilege of babysitting them once and he'd grown attached.

He got to choose the story he was going to read, and it was an easy decision. His childhood favourite: _'Twas The Night Before Christmas_.

There was no way he'd give that up so Sherlock could drag him to a crime scene. Sherlock would do fine on his own for a few hours.

~

"John!" Sherlock was standing by the door, putting on his coat. He was impatient, as always.

John came down the stairs from his room, already wearing his coat.

"Are you ready?" Sherlock asked. "I'm in a hurry. The bodies are waiting."

John frowned. Stared. "Sherlock, I'm not coming with you. Remember? Lestrade's kids' Christmas thing. That's today. I was about to leave."

Snarling, Sherlock pulled on his gloves. "Fine. Guess I won't be picking up the milk this week." He turned and started gliding down the stairs.

"You _never_ get the milk," John called after him. "You grow mold in mine and expect me to buy more."

The only response was the slamming of the front door.

~

Lestrade's kids were happy to see John arrive. They ran over to him, hugged him, tugged at his shirt and told him stories about the things they'd done so far at their Christmas party. ("We made paper snowflakes!" "Yeah, and Play-Doh snowmen!")

Their teacher brought John over to the area where a few other parents were standing. John realised he was the only adult not directly related to someone in the class. He'd come in Lestrade's place. He guessed that Lestrade couldn't get off work. It was nice that Lucy and Jack had someone they knew there, even if it couldn't be their dad.

Other parents read their stories first: How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Snowman, The Legend of the Poinsettia. When John read his story, he liked seeing Jack and Lucy smile.

It was worth the ten texts he'd received by the time he left the school. Sherlock was not in a good mood.

_Dimmock tried to make me wear one of those idiotic blue coveralls. He doesn't do that when you're here. -SH_

_Anderson rearranged the items in the victim's purse. Searching for fingerprints is no excuse for ruining evidence. Don't know the motive now. -SH_

_You're the most selfish person I've ever met. -SH_

_I should change the locks. -SH_

_Fine. Won't change locks. -SH_

_Lestrade is yelling at me. -SH_

_Apparently it's rude to threaten to lock you out. -SH_

_Is it rude to tell the whole police force that Lestrade's wife is currently having sex with the gym teacher? -SH_

_I'm terribly bad at judging these things, you know. -SH_

_Lestrade's kicked me out. I hope you're happy. -SH_

John chuckled and sent a text back.

_I'm coming home, you big baby. Relax. I'm bringing milk._

~

Sherlock was still sulking when John got back, lying on the sofa with his knees to his chest and his back to the door.

"How'd it go?" John asked. "Figure out the motive yet?"

Sherlock turned his head just enough to glare, then stared at the back of the sofa.

Sighing, John went to the sofa. He lifted Sherlock's feet, sat down, and put the feet in his lap. "You're cross that I read a story to some kids. I was gone for _two hours._ "

"The story is stupid. You're more useful at a crime scene."

"The story is _not_ stupid. It's a classic. The kids loved it."

Sherlock huffed. "I don't see why. No one cares about deer or fairies."

John's eyes widened. "One, kids love the book. It's a classic. Two, they're called _rein_ deer, and there are no fairies."

"Who makes the toys, then? I'm not an idiot, John."

" _Elves_ , not fairies, and they're not even in the book. Have you ever read it?"

Sherlock rolled onto his back and stared at John. "Deleted it."

For several moments, John stared at him. Fairies. Unbelievable. "Right," he said. "Get in bed."

"I will _not_." Sherlock looked scandalised, like John had asked him to strip naked.

John sighed. "I'm not propositioning you, okay? Just get in bed. I'm going to read you a story."

"I don't want you to," said Sherlock. "Sounds dull." He turned to face the back of the sofa again.

"It's almost Christmas and you've been sulking all day. Humour me. Just listen to the story and I'll . . . buy you some microscope slides."

There was silence. The soft sound of breathing. And then, "They have to be the right kind. I'm picky about the brand."

"I know. Just get in bed."

"Why?"

"Just do it. It's a tradition."

"I hate traditions."

" _Sherlock._ "

Sherlock sat up, his eyes narrowing. "No complaining about my experiments for a month."

"A week."

"Two weeks."

John gritted his teeth. "Fine, two weeks, but you have to promise to stop snooping through my laptop."

"Deal," said Sherlock. He was grinning. John didn't believe for a moment that Sherlock would keep his word, but it was worth a try.

John herded him into the bedroom, made him get under the blankets, and then went to fetch the book. He perched himself near the edge of the bed, with his back against the headboard. Sherlock was on his back with his arms crossed.

Smiling, John cleared his throat and started reading. "'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."

Sherlock scoffed. "You didn't tell me this was a _poem_."

"Shut up. If you don't behave, the deal's off."

"Who has mice in their house? We don't."

"It's a story, Sherlock. Suspend your disbelief."

"I hate you."

" _Sherlock_."

"Fine."

John continued reading. "The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there."

"Who's St. Nicholas?"

John very nearly laughed. "Oh my god. Really? It's _Santa_ , Sherlock. St. Nicholas is Santa Claus."

"Well that's stupid," Sherlock decided. "Why does he have two names? That's confusing for children. How does anyone tolerate this?"

"Stop interrupting. Just close your eyes and listen." The book had pictures, but Sherlock wouldn't appreciate them anyway.

Amazingly, Sherlock obeyed. He rolled his eyes, but then he closed them. He even rolled onto his side to face John, and propped his head up on his arm. He was probably acting, but he looked almost eager.

There weren't any interruptions after that. Sometimes Sherlock would suck in an audible breath, the way he did before he made a brilliant deduction, and John could tell he wanted to point out some flaw in the language or the logic. But he stopped himself before saying anything rude, and John was grateful.

By the fourth verse, John got really into it. He felt a lot like he had when he was reading to the class of children--like he had a captivated audience. He made his voice sound soft and kind, but added emphasis in certain spots to make it dramatic. If Sherlock still thought this was dull, he didn't mention it.

When John finished with "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" in his best Santa voice, Sherlock seemed surprised to hear the book close.

"Oh," he said, opening his eyes. "Was that all?"

John smiled and patted his hand. "Yup. You were very good. Was it . . . okay?"

Sherlock avoided making eye contact. "It was fine, John. Don't forget my microscope slides. I need them by tomorrow."

"Good night, Sherlock," said John. "Happy Christmas." He got up and began walking away. He couldn't be sure, but he'd swear he heard Sherlock whisper something as the door closed.

"Good night, John."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! <3


End file.
